91 Days alternate ending
by Gin-san needs his parfait
Summary: Just a different ending to the last scene. M for theme of scene. (image link www. zerochan. net /2016102)


His smile as he turns around is gentle, accepting, kind. He knows that if he shoots now he will never be able to look at that kind of smile again and not remember this man. This boy who had deceived him so thoroughly, perfectly that even now after all the men he knew he had killed he could only see his trusted companion with whom he had had so many near-accidents in a car and with whom he would have gone on as many road trips as they would because in the end he had known the boy could drive perfectly well.

But he had only been there for his revenge.

This revenge that had in the end given him nothing. But he himself knew what he had gotten was well-deserved. After all, even though he had not killed the boy seven years ago, he would on this day.

"What are you waiting for?", his voice was as flat as ever, though the smile had not left his face. He thought that the man before him was quite handsome when wearing that kind smile. His hair was perhaps still a little too long, falling over his piercing eyes that had often enough given him trouble to stare into for too long. Even now, having him at gunpoint, knowing those eyes would close for ever, he found himself wanting to look away.

Then he cocked his head. "Would you rather I be on my knees? Is it an execution you want?", he asks and goes to his knees, unbound hands resting in his lap. He looks like he is attentively waiting for a guest to sit with him. He swallows. Why is this so hard?

He should be stumbling over his feet in the haste to kill him.

And stumbling he is. His falls to his knees before him, gun still cocked and trained to shoot the man in his cold heart. He leans forwards, presses his chest to the barrel of the gun, face inches from his own. "Come on, pal. Make me feel it will you?", he suddenly has a flirtatious edge in his voice and now he understands why he doesn't stare into those eyes for too long if he can help it. They are like jewels beckoning him in, inviting and full of the desire to be held.

But it is all an act. The man before him can put on any face he wants. And now he wants him to kill him and is for that reason provoking him, getting to his knees, smiling, tempting. And he is tempted. Tempted to squeeze and hear the gunshot, watch the life leave those eyes. But he is also tempted to close the gap between them, force real emotion into the man before him. It is infuriating that after everything he can still manipulate him so perfectly calculatingly that he will in the end get what he wants. His death.

Was that not what he had said at the fireplace? _If only you had killed me back then._ , unshed tears in his voice. He wanted an end.

But he himself, he realised did not. He would not be forced to end it there. He uncocked the gun, noted the miniscule widening of eyes, then a cold smile. "Forcing me to do it myself then? A bit sick, don't you think?", even now he is so very tempted. But he does not want an end just yet.

So he shrugs. "Sure. We mafia men do unspeakable things."

There is a small quirk to his lips then as he answers, "It would have ended perfectly like this, you know. Finally. And of course you go and ruin it all. Typical."

He scoffs. "I'll have you know I don't ruin _everything_. Certainly not enough to warrant you calling this my typical reaction."

He leans forward even more, then, no gun restricting him to a few inches away, his breath is cool on his skin. "It isn't? What of your sister's wedding? Her dead husband? The botched up hostage exchange? The lost body? The unfinished business between us?", he whispers those questions, rubs it in, wants more than ever to make him shoot. They are all low blows. All true, too, which is why he is once again reminded of how very much he is tempted. "But then again, it was me who gave Vanno the booze that made him aggressive and it was me who delivered the gun to her. It was me who used your man as a shield when the shooting began. It was me who killed Vanno in the first place and the body was exactly where I wanted it to be."

He barely notices that he is breathing harshly, eyes wide and has cocked the gun once more. In his mind he runs through all the events and realises that yes, Angelo had had his fingers in everything. Angelo, not Mikael. Slender fingers, callous from the use of guns and knives, brush a loose strand of hair from his face. "Don't you hate me for it? Don't you want me to die, Donatello?"

He does. Yes, yes he does. Very much. But he also doesn't. Because he has fallen in love with those eyes. Has fallen low and hard. He loves this man.

He loves him because he is certain that those road trips were filled with sincere moments. Loves him because even in the end he didn't want to kill him, even after he had revealed that he would shoot the boy today. _My reason for not killing you… I did not want to._

Well. He doesn't either! He doesn't want to see the life draining out of Angelo.

"No", he breathes and Angelo reels as though he was struck, he advances, leans forward as Angelo did moments ago, "No, Angelo. Not you."


End file.
